LM Otero/Associated Press

Decovin Coleman, 10, uses steam off a pipe from an oil refinery to clean mud off his sneakers in Port Arthur, Texas. Coleman and his friend often play in the fields next to petrochemical plants. While some in this Texas town push for changes aimed at reducing the health hazards caused by the plants, others push to protect the plants as a key component of Port Arthur's economy.

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PORT ARTHUR, Texas — There is a quiet battle for the future of this industrial town, one of America's most polluted places.

On one side is ex-mayor Oscar Ortiz, who in the waning days of his administration worried about one thing. But it wasn't the toxic chemicals that spew from petrochemical plants, the town's richest landowners, through the windows of its poorest residents.

What rattled white-maned, barrel-chested Ortiz, who ran Port Arthur for nine years, was that someday the petrochemical plants would go away.

"The only money here in the city of Port Arthur that amounts to anything comes from industry, from petrochemical companies," said Ortiz, leaning back in his chair in an office decorated with framed photographs of refineries. "If industry goes away, people might as well go away too because there'll be no money. That's the continued salvation of this city."

Hilton Kelley, like Ortiz born and raised in Port Arthur, is the opposition.

Kelley does worry about the toxic chemicals, the foul-smelling air and the west side residents who suffer from asthma, respiratory ailments, skin irritations and cancer. As the city's most visible environmental activist, Kelley has long campaigned for more restrictions on industrial construction and stricter monitoring of plant emissions.

"I grew up smelling the SO2 (sulfur dioxide) smell, the chemicals. I remember seeing little kids with sores on their legs, with mucus running in August. It's ridiculous what we've had to deal with," says Kelley, a former actor with the sonorous voice of a radio announcer. "We're not trying to shut doors of industry. We're just trying to push these guys to do what's right."

Ortiz calls Kelley an alarmist who likes to "stir things up" in the minority community. Kelley accuses Ortiz of sacrificing the community's welfare in exchange for slim tax revenue from the plants.

One man represents Port Arthur the way it has always been; the other symbolizes a growing call for change.

But change, especially in a place like Port Arthur, never comes easily.

"This city is not going to change. It is a refinery town - tomorrow, next year, 100 years from now. It will always be a petrochemical area," says Ortiz.

And if its residents are getting sick from the pollution?

Well, says Ortiz: "We've all got to die of something."

Port Arthur, located next to the Louisiana line, sits in a corridor routinely ranked as one of the most polluted regions in the United States. Texas and Louisiana are home to five oil refineries considered among the nation's 10 worst offenders in releasing toxic air pollutants. Together, they emitted 8.5 million pounds (3.8 million kilograms) of toxins in 2002.

Yet even here, Port Arthur stands out.

Its skyline is framed by the smokestacks and knotted steel pipes of the refineries and chemical plants clustered along the edges of the town. Flares from the plants glow red against the night sky, as incinerated chemicals filter into the air.

The smell of rotten eggs and sulphur hangs stubbornly over the apartments and shotgun houses on the west side. Port Arthur, population 57,000, is on the EPA's list of cities with dangerous ozone levels, and the state has flagged its excessive levels of benzene.

Many cities along the Texas Gulf Coast are dotted with refineries. But the companies' high tax bills are used to improve schools, create green space and bulk up city coffers. Port Arthur waives most property taxes to lure industry.

Eric Shaeffer, a former EPA official who runs the Environmental Integrity Project in Washington, D.C., a nonprofit advocacy group, has written two studies on pollution in Port Arthur. "It's one of the worst I've seen," he said.

The Veolia Environmental Services plant in Port Arthur recently started incinerating nearly 2 million gallons of VX hydrolysate, the wastewater byproduct of a deadly nerve gas agent.

The state and EPA allow the pollution as part of the cost of doing business. And the plants spew more toxins during "upset events" - unpermitted releases caused by lightning strikes, human error, startups and shutdowns.

Plant officials cite statistics showing steady progress in reducing some emissions, but Shaeffer cites a continuing hazard.

"When you get releases, it really hits people right in the chest," said Shaeffer. "It's one thing to be driving past the plants on the highway. It's another thing for kids to be out on the swing sets when there's a release."

Jordan, 5, and Justin, 7, play on the swings at Carver Terrace, the public housing project they live in next door to refineries run by Motiva and Valero that produce half a million barrels of oil a day and belch thousands of pounds of pollutants into the air.

Jordan's lungs are so weakened from a lifelong battle with asthma and bronchitis that he can't shout or call for help like other children, says their mother, LaShauna Green.

He must inhale medicine every four hours through a plastic mask that swamps his chubby face. Every two hours, he must take one of seven prescription drugs that keep his air passages from tightening.

Justin struggles to breathe after climbing just one flight of stairs.

Those troubles vanished when the Green family left the area for a year following 2005's Hurricane Rita. But two days after their return to Carver Terrace, Justin was rushed to a hospital twice in one day with respiratory attacks.

"When you start getting this kind of toxic chemical soup, we don't really know what the combination of all these things are doing," said Debra Morris, an assistant professor at the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston who studied Port Arthur-area pollution.

Texas oil was first discovered near Port Arthur. For decades, the region nurtured industrial build-up with generous tax abatements. In return, the companies would promise to pay later and to create local jobs.

Ortiz defends the incentives as the only way to keep his city alive.

"The one main substance that keeps the city floating is the refineries," he said.

Refineries and chemical plants contribute about 67 percent of the city's budget through some taxes, Ortiz said. Still, without the abatements the city would have collected tens of millions of dollars more.

The city of Port Arthur has at least 28 tax-abatement deals with refineries and chemical plants.

Surrounding Jefferson County has at least six, including with Motiva, Total, and Valero, which will pay no property taxes for the first two years of a nine-year contract, and then pay 10 percent of the taxes it would owe for the next seven.

Motiva will pay no taxes on a $3.5 billion expansion project for the next three years. Total taxes rise to $4.16 million by 2012.

Jeff Branick, assistant to Jefferson County executive Ron Walker, says the Motiva expansion is expected to create thousands of temporary construction jobs and 300 permanent jobs; Valero's project is expected to create 40 to 65 jobs, he said.

"It's going to be pumping a whole lot of money into the local economy," Branick said. "It creates hotel-motel tax revenue and will be attracting people from the outside who will be coming here to work and renting houses."

Ortiz also points to a new development on Pleasure Island, a resort with golf courses, new hotels and bustling shopping centers springing up on the city's south side. All, says Ortiz, spurred by the growth of the industrial complexes.

However, that prosperity bypassed Port Arthur's predominantly black west side and central city neighborhoods where singer Janis Joplin was raised.